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The Nephilim warriors warily reached the top of the ski slope. One held his baraka at the ready, the bloodied, helmetless man shouldering his own spear in favour of a trikan.
There was no sign of the woman, but tracks led towards a building. Their prey’s footprints were smaller than most of the others, making them easy to pick out. They followed them through a gap in the trees towards the brightly lit little castle. She must have gone inside . . .
The first warrior raised his baraka – and fired. A tower blew apart, revealing not stone but wood and plaster behind the painted surface. The snow-covered roof crashed down into the wreckage. The second Nephilim spun his trikan, waiting for his quarry to flee the collapsing building—
‘Hey!’
The shout came from behind. Both giants whirled—
Nina stepped out from the trees – she had backtracked along her own footprints before vaulting into her hiding place – and fired the shotgun.
The warriors were only twenty feet away. The helmetless man’s head jerked back in a bloody spray as the tightly spread shot ripped the flesh from his face.
The other Nephilim’s thumb jabbed the spear’s trigger, but it had not yet recharged. Nina swung her gun at him and racked the slide—
It caught mid movement with a clunk. The smoking cartridge had jammed in the ejection port, stopping the shotgun from cycling.
She tugged the slide again. It made no difference. The cartridge was still wedged tight. She didn’t know how to clear it – and now the warrior’s baraka had recharged.
He thumbed the trigger again—
Nina flung her useless gun at him as she dived sidelong. The spear’s golden cover snapped open, rippling energy erupting – and hitting the shotgun at point-blank range.
The flying weapon blew apart. The gunpowder in the remaining cartridges detonated, blasting out buckshot like an exploding hand grenade. It tore through the gaps in the warrior’s armour, lacerating his face and neck. He fell back with a scream, blinded and spitting blood from shredded lips.
Nina let out a cry of her own as shrapnel stabbed into her. She painfully sat up to see bloody rips in her trousers and shirt. The wounds were not deep, but they stung like hell. She scooped up snow and pushed it gently against the injuries to numb them, then stood. Her left leg, which had taken the brunt of the damage, quivered as she put weight on it, but held.
She wouldn’t be sprinting for a while, though. Pain burned through her calf muscle. A clumsy jog was the best she could hope for.
And that would not be enough. Through the mist, she saw more towering figures hurrying up the hill.
She hobbled to the wounded Nephilim and snatched up his baraka. It occurred to her that she could use the weapon to finish him, but the moment she fired, the warriors below would home in on her.
Instead she went to the chamber’s rear wall, which was painted to resemble a mountain range. There had to be a way out—
There was – behind the castle’s wreckage. Doors below an emergency exit sign were blocked by debris. She could clear it, given a few minutes . . . but she didn’t have a few minutes.
She looked around in desperation. If there were any other exits, she couldn’t see them. The only way she could go was back down the hill.
Straight into the arms of her hunters.
The other Nephilim were moving quickly, following their comrades’ tracks. Nina gripped the baraka, but it was seven against one. Fighting was not an option; she had to get past them. Somehow.
The ski lifts could carry people downhill as well as up, but she would be completely exposed. Skis or a snowboard would be faster, except there were none to hand. So how . . .
‘No, nope,’ she told herself, even as she started towards the bobsled run. ‘I am not going to do that. I am so not doing that!’
But somehow she found herself crouched at its top. Several sleds waited beside a heavy-duty chain lift. She looked downhill. The limited space dedicated to the run meant it lacked the sweeping turns of an outdoor track, but it still snaked enough to give thrill-seekers some excitement on their ride.
Right now, that was the last thing she wanted, but it was the only way to get down without being caught. The leading Nephilim were more than halfway up the hill.
She frowned. They had clear line of sight across the slope, and the bobsled would make enough noise to draw their attention – and their fire. She needed to distract them, even if only for seconds.
Her gaze went to the ceiling. As well as lights, it supported a twisting maze of ductwork and pipes – the air-conditioning system, to keep the temperature below freezing, and fans to blow out an even covering of man-made snow. There was a lot of metal up there . . .
She hauled a one-person bobsled to the top of the run, seeing rings attached to the steering cables inside the streamlined fibreglass cowling. It was only then she realised there were no helmets; they would be rented from the counters below just like skiing gear. It doesn’t matter, she thought; I must already be missing plenty of brain cells just to be considering this . . .
The rearmost Nephilim passed the halfway mark. That ought to be enough of a gap, and her distraction would hopefully delay them still further. She aimed the baraka at the ceiling – and fired.
The energy bolt’s crackle instantly caused armoured heads to snap towards her. But by then the blast had hit its target. A hole blew open in the ceiling, sparks falling . . . followed by ducting and a heavy fan.
The last warrior looked up in surprise – only to be flattened by several hundred pounds of industrial air mover. Ductwork clanged into the snow around him. Another Nephilim was knocked down, others diving clear of the falling wreckage.
Nina took advantage of the chaos. She threw the spear into the bobsled, then propelled it into the icy half-pipe and leapt aboard.
The sledge immediately veered to one side. She yelped and grabbed the control cables to counter the turn. It straightened out, already picking up speed.
Flecks of ice spat up at her face. She narrowed her eyes and looked ahead. The course ran straight for a hundred feet before entering the first turn. She readied herself to steer into it, glancing sidelong.
The Nephilim had spotted her. Weapons came up—
A blast hit the edge of the run just ahead. She ducked as pulverised ice rained over her. Momentarily blinded, she shook off the freezing fragments – to see she was already at the turn.
The sled reeled, angling up the side of the pipe. She pulled frantically at the cables. The runners shrilled angrily against the ice, the vehicle shuddering as it ground along the lip of the course . . . then swung back down.
Her panic didn’t subside. The bobsled cut across the centre line into the next turn, heading up the other side of the half-pipe at an even steeper angle. If she didn’t regain control, she would vault right out – and crash into the ski run’s wall.
She hauled at the other cable. The sled wasn’t turning, runners skidding sidelong over the frozen surface—
They caught abruptly, cutting into the ice. The bob’s nose jerked around. The sudden change of direction threw Nina sideways, harsh ice rushing past mere inches from her cheek. She gasped and pulled herself upright. The sledge veered back into the pipe, rocking violently – then steadying.
More energy bolts slammed into the ice and snow. She was partly protected by the track’s walls, but she still leaned back as far as she dared, looking over the bobsled’s nose to bring it into the next turn. It hurtled through, more or less holding course.
Nina didn’t believe for an instant that that was down to any skill on her part – more like pure luck. The test would come in a moment. She rocketed towards a tighter turn, gaining speed. If she screwed up now, she would be launched into the air like a missile—
The bob shot into the turn, rolling almost perpendicular to the ground. Sh
e tugged the cables. It straightened, wavering as velocity and gravity battled – then angled back down, sweeping out of the bend into a longer straight.
Her relief was tempered with concern. The bobsled would now pick up even more speed . . . and the track’s designers had probably saved the most challenging curves until last.
But she was past the Nephilim, more than halfway down. If she stayed on course, she would get her chance to escape . . .
A bend loomed ahead – and she knew in a flash of horrified realisation that she wouldn’t make it.
Its upper edge curled back over the pipe, partially enclosing it. An expert rider at full speed would actually be inverted as they shot through. Nina wasn’t even close to full speed – but nor was she an expert.
She pulled the cables, riding up the straight’s side – then angling back down into the bend in the hope of cutting through it.
It didn’t work.
The runner on the track’s higher side dug into the ice, hard. It jerked around, yanking the handle from her grip.
Nina knew her ride was doomed. She threw herself out of the open rear – as the sled flipped over.
She slammed down on her back and slithered along behind the tumbling bob. The fibreglass cowling disintegrated, a broken panel barely missing her neck as it slashed over her. She didn’t even have the breath to scream, desperately splaying her arms and legs wide to slow herself while trying to keep her head from rasping along the bumpy surface.
Both the sled and its former rider rounded the last corner. Nina dug her heels into the ice. The bob crossed a red line, a hooter echoing through the chamber. Her time flashed up on an illuminated sign: thirty-two seconds, a sad emoji telling her she hadn’t broken any records.
All she cared about was that she hadn’t broken any bones. She pushed her feet down harder, slowing as she crossed the line—
A crackling fusillade of earth energy flashed past.
She was not the target, nor the bobsled. The hunters were doing to her what she had done to them. The bolts blasted the ceiling, sending machinery plunging downwards—
It smashed straight through the floor. The overturned sled disappeared into the gaping pit, hitting something below with a fatal bang.
Now Nina screamed, feet scrabbling and hands clawing for grip that wasn’t there. The hole swallowed her—
The fall was about five feet onto a sloping section of broken floor – not far, but still enough to deliver a jarring blow to her spine. She skidded down it, slamming to a stop against the boxy casing of a large fan. She lay still for a moment, dizzied and breathless. Broken ice showered over her. After a moment, she tried to move – only to cry out at a stabbing pain. The broken tip of a metal pole was buried in the side of her hip, blood oozing around it.
She had to get up. The Nephilim would soon be here. She braced herself – then slid sideways. The rod popped free, its last half-inch smeared with blood. She wailed, but dragged herself clear of the debris.
All she could do with the wound was press her hand against it to slow the bleeding. She stood, feeling stinging cuts up her back from her slide down the rough ice, and looked around. Beneath the ski run was a dimly lit service area, heavy girders supporting the slope and a huge network of pipes and ducts maintaining the low temperature. It was even colder than the huge room above, frost coating everything.
A green light not far away warmed her with relief. An emergency exit into the mall’s lower levels. She could still keep the key from the Nephilim—
‘Shit!’ she gasped, realising that the artefact was no longer inside her clothing. It had fallen out somewhere along her wild ride – but where?
A frantic search. No sign of the golden disc. Either it had ended up under the fallen debris, or it was somewhere on the bobsled run. The baraka poked out of the mangled sled; she grabbed it—
Another energy blast above shook the ceiling and showered her with ice. Inhuman shouts told her she was outnumbered. One last futile sweep for the key, then she reluctantly limped to the emergency exit.
Shadows cut into the light lancing down through the hole. The Nephilim had caught up. She ducked through the door and closed it behind her.
Blank-walled corridors stretched away to each side. She started in the direction of where she had entered the mall – back towards the fortress. The Nephilim would now almost certainly recover the resurrection key; she had to stop them from returning it to their leaders.
Arms straining, Eddie reached the bottom of the dangling fire hose.
He regarded the second tower. Some of the windows where he expected to land were broken, but it would be almost impossible to aim at them precisely enough to get through unscathed. Plan B it was, then . . .
He wound the hose around his left wrist before squeezing both legs over the brass nozzle. ‘Let’s get into the swing of things,’ he said, then started to move.
Legs back, then forward, then back again, the length of his swing increasing each time. The wind whistled in his ears – but not loudly enough to drown out a bang from behind. Fires were now licking from the broken windows, the noise caused by a swathe of the facade shearing away. Hailstones of glass and broken concrete fell past him as he picked up speed.
Forward, and he came to within thirty feet of the other tower’s fractured mirror before falling away. He would reach it next time – or hit it, if he didn’t judge his sweep accurately. He unshouldered the rocket launcher, wrapping its strap around his other wrist, then held it on his thighs, pointing forward.
He slowed at the top of his reverse arc. Acrid smoke hit his nostrils. A momentary pause . . . then he swished forward again, extending his legs to gain momentum – and to support the rocket launcher.
Past the lowest point of the swing, narrowing his eyes against the slipstream, then he hurtled upwards. The tower rushed at him. He located the approaching point of impact. The windows were intact. He turned his feet, heels together but toes apart, and pushed the launcher’s tube between them, bracing it in position with his outstretched arm.
His reflection grew ever larger. About to hit—
He buried his face against his arm to protect his eyes – and whipped his feet back beneath himself.
The launcher hit the glass like a battering ram. The window shattered – and Eddie hurtled through the falling pieces into the room beyond.
Sparkling debris showered over him, cutting the exposed skin of his hands and head. But he had to ignore the pain. The impact had robbed him of the speed he needed to complete the arc. He kicked away the Type 08 as he dropped—
And slammed down on his back. The pressure around his left wrist eased, but would return at any moment. The rest of the hose was about to fall back down – and would pull him with it.
Glass crunched beneath Eddie as he rolled to the neighbouring, undamaged window and flattened himself against the glass—
The hose’s full weight suddenly yanked his arm against the frame, almost breaking his wrist. He yelled, but held on. A moment to recover, then he crawled from the window, dragging the hose with him and tying it around a pillar. It wouldn’t come loose, unless the entire floor collapsed.
Which was now not an unlikely possibility.
Arm aching, he returned to the broken window and looked up, following the hose’s pale line to its source. From this angle he couldn’t see any of the people still in the other tower, but they would surely realise he had created an escape route. ‘Come on, come on,’ he muttered, picking glass from his hands.
‘Here!’ shouted one of the warriors, spotting the unmistakable gleam of orichalcum against the crash bags at the end of the bobsled run. He snatched up the key. ‘I have it!’
A comrade looked into the broken hole, trikan at the ready. ‘What about the beast? She fell down here.’
The first man shook his head. ‘We have the key. That is all that matter
s. We need to bring it back to the vimana.’ He took out a speaking crystal to tell Gadreel the good news.
The warrior at the edge of the pit peered into the shadows below, but saw no movement except wafting dust. Irked by his prey’s escape, he followed the others from the frozen chamber.
‘He made it!’ Macy told Cheng. ‘The hose isn’t moving, look.’
The Chinese was less certain. ‘What if it just got stuck on something?’
‘This is my dad – he does this kind of stuff all the time! Well, not exactly like this,’ she admitted. ‘Although he did once tell me he and Mom escaped from a skyscraper before its top fell off . . . But whatever, he did it. We’ve got to go.’ She carefully made her way to the waiting soldier.
He had retrieved the rifle straps, taking off his equipment webbing and the jacket of his combat fatigues. The latter was twisted and knotted into a crude rope, which he tied to the straps to increase their length. He held out the webbing to Macy with an encouraging smile. ‘He’s telling you to put the harness on, but not to fasten it yet,’ Cheng translated. ‘He’ll lower you down. Once you reach the reel, fasten the harness around the hose to hold yourself, then put your legs over it and slide down.’
‘If I’ve got his harness, how’s he going to get down?’ she asked.
The relayed question drew a chuckle from the soldier. ‘He says not to worry,’ Cheng told her. ‘He’s a tough guy, he can hold on.’
‘Okay . . .’ said Macy, unconvinced. But she let him help her don the harness, adjusting it to fit her much smaller frame, then nervously held the strap. He lowered her to the open hatch.
The journey, though nerve-racking, took only moments. She grabbed the reel with relief and stepped into the recess. From here, she could see the hose stretching away towards the other tower, though the ceiling blocked sight of its far end.
She leaned out and fumbled the harness around the hose. A heavy-duty plastic clip snapped shut with reassuring firmness. That done, she gripped the hose with both hands before wrapping her legs over it.
Fear returned. It was not the first time she had used a zip-line, nor climbed a rope; her father had made sure of that, and much more. But it was the first time she had done something where any mistake would kill her.
The Resurrection Key Page 39
